The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

Deleted Scene I: Goodnight, Kathy

March 2009

The cold wind rattles the manor's windows, each blow sighing and crashing.
That is till my own feet prob in measured steps.

I turn and lean on the doorframe, the piano glaringly silent. A small blonde girl sits on a stool dragged to the front window.

She only stares into the glacial glass, her hands clasped against a fencing blade.

She even has Matthew's love of fencing.

"Hey, Henry," she says, still not moving.

"Hullo, Kathleen." I stray away from the door and enter the solemn room. A room that is far more suited for me than for a child of three-and-ten.

A lost ray of sunlight strides in, causing a gleam on the smooth blade. I brought her blade from the modern Edenfield's fencing court, thinking it might help with adjusting to an unfamiliar atmosphere.

And I was so very wrong.

Months have passed and not a single wrinkle of emotion has stricken upon her features. Only a cold dismissal, something that even I cannot fathom.

"Did you practise today?" I ask.

Kathleen nods, but says nothing more.

Matthew and Belle are much better with children than me...

"Doing something familiar but not too reminiscent often helps nostalgia."

The right hand in my trousers pockets travels upwards to rub my chin.

"Would you like to go skating outside? The pond is frozen throughout, I assure you." I smile, waving my index finger to the side.

Do children still skate in the modern era?

Kathleen turns for the first time. After a few moments, she mutters,
"You really look like Dad and Dylan." I blink; she shakes her head.

"I will agree on that, but let us admit they will always use more contractions than me." I wave a hand.

She smiles and says,
"What about skates? Where will be get those?"

I turn on my heel, my voice trailing behind me.
"You know where the pond is. Go there and I shall return with skates."

For a moment, I remain in the adjacent corridor till smaller steps prob on the floor as well.

After tying the skates, I glide onto the frozen pond. Bits and pieces of snow scatter on its edges, while a few unaware skaters wander nearby.

Kathleen looks down at her hands, them not turning blue despite the weather.

"Ghosts don't feel the cold in the same manner humans do, Matth-- Kathleen."

She jerks her head up, nodding as if out of a trance. The girl then rubs her hands on her black trousers and stands up, the white of her sweater. interlacing with the scene.